


c'est la vie

by spacetrash0



Series: Homestuck/Hiveswap/FriendSim [1]
Category: FriendSim - Fandom, Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: BLEASE heed the trigger warnings im begging u, Gen, [chanting] vent fic vent fic vent fic, also grievous misuse of troll lingo lmao, dumbass bastard alignment, headcanon troll terminology, homed stuck babey !, i self insert its 2019 let people enjoy shit, im still learning how to write /whips, whips as in the meme thing i dont actually whip anything this is a christian minecraft server
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 11:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacetrash0/pseuds/spacetrash0
Summary: ;)





	c'est la vie

**Author's Note:**

> /WHIPS  
> I've been meaning to write a bloody fic for a while now uwuwuwuwuwu  
> vent fic featuring my trollsona And some writing practice  
> troll: ronnie angora, burgundyblood, abt 5’7, fool
> 
> TWs: blood mentions, detailed descriptions of injuries, generous helpings of self-hate

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The slow flow of rusty blood droplets falling into your ablution block sink lines up perfectly with the ticking of the seconds on the clock out in the lounging block of your hive. The silhouette of your face is interrupted by the raging black eye that’s taken over a small portion of your visage. You swing open the hexagon shaped reflection surface and from the corner of your gander bulbs you watch your disgusting lowblood face disappear. The antiseptic stings when you apply it to the cuts gracing your hands. There’s no need for bandages, you have too little to waste and you’ve always had a weak hemoflow to your appendages anyway. 

The fabric of your dark tank top clings to your abdomen, sticky with the blood that makes darker spots on the material. Your flannel is easily discarded from your shoulders with a shrug before you lift the tank top with a shaky maneuver. You have two bruises and three cuts: one on your chest right below your rumble spheres, another a little lower down which thankfully missed your grubscars, and the worst one in the middle of your stomach. 

 

As you bandage your cuts you shoot yourself a withering look in the reflection surface.

_“Such is life.”_


End file.
